


why do people ever contemplate when you can just look instead? observations underrated

by redhoodsbf



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: 0_0, Generally, M/M, and my brain like eyeball__eyeball, and reflecting, i have no idea where the inspo for this came from, in a shower, in my MIND, interpret it any way you wish, jason has a huge unrelenting crush on mr good to everyone but himself, jason is sad, my hands went/ zoom, thats about it, then his room, theres kind of jaydick i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25110880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodsbf/pseuds/redhoodsbf
Summary: Jason needed this shower, with an incessant nagging curiosity that's keeps ruining his day. Trying and trying to keep himself. Just himself.He just needs to be together.
Relationships: Implied Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	why do people ever contemplate when you can just look instead? observations underrated

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i will update glamour for the corpses when i go insane again. i want to but waawaaawahhh im a whore bitch
> 
> song is i cant swim by elliot moss

I fear I’m fading away; my skins infected with a light grey; I can feel my mind decay; my thoughts are on a time delay

He closed his eyes, sat down in the tub with his back against the waterfall. He barely fit into this thing. His eyes sat closed for a while. Didn’t really think much of it, until he got lost in his head again. He looked; forehead rested against the tops of his knees. He could see the curvature of his chest, the rolls of his stomach, and just the starting point of his dick. In his peripherals he could see his hips, the folds of skin and he jut of bone melding in his posture. His thighs took up most of his view, broad and thicker than the rest of him with his arms wrapped around his legs, and he could almost-- just almost-- make out where his biceps end. The sides. He can see their start, their curve, their contortion, but not the very very edge of them. Just what's squeezed together, around his thighs, body turned in, head against his knees. 

He was staring, feeling conceited. He closed his eyes. Let the water run over and around his cheeks, dripping down from his chin, lips, not his nose though. He wasn’t at the right angle for that. He let that go on for a while. Occasionally he’d open his mouth, to see how it felt, how the water changed and grazed him in a number of ways. 

Something was different. So, he got up,black spots clouding his vision. Everything black. Blindly, he reached for the towel he had draped over the shower curtain rod and wiped his face. Opened his eyes back up again just to close them once he moved his head under the spray. Let it go over his scalp, his hair, his face. On his scalp he felt the small pinpricks of hot pain, all from going crazy while scratching it earlier, the entire reason he was in the shower to begin with. Cathartic. It grounded him, at least. It was all very warm. And for a while, he was calm again. He still felt the ache in his legs, which was slow throbbing and travelling from his calves to his knees to his thighs; and the crick in his neck and right shoulder (he cracked his neck at that). 

Stupidly, he decided to open his eyes back up. Curiosity and a Jason Peter Haywood (not Todd) do not do well together. His chest, it still curved, down to his nipples and under. He hadn’t really thought about his nipples. Aeugh, why start now? His stomach pushed out and in and out and in, along with his hips, and his feet against the floor. His navel, light-ish ginger hair trailed down, ‘till he met with his dick. Great, really. Closed his eyes back and lifted his head into the wash of water. 

He turned back around, digging his nails into his skin. It felt like… something. 

Something… 

Is that really good enough?

Eventually he got sick of it. The softness. It was making him dizzy and sick. He reached down and pushed the thingy that turned the showerhead on. What was that things name anyway? He never really gave a fuck about bathrooms. He kneeled down, one arm right back around his knee and the other reaching for the wash rag. He ran it under the hot water, rinsing it off once, then in lukewarm water just to be sure it was clean (also his hands start burning if he does the hot water for too long and it’s aggravating) and moves to drape it back over the thing that turns on the water. He wasn’t doing too hot with words right about now. Whatever. The little towel he had as a backup had fallen down into the tub and he had put it on under the washrag, so right now he didn’t need to worry about it.  
He got the impromptu shower curtain weight up (a conditioner that he never uses) from where it was holding down an end of the curtain and put it back in its place, then stepped out and grabbed the towel on the shower rod and tossed it onto the toilet after grabbing the body and hair towel there. He just draped the smaller tower over his head and wrapped the longer around himself up to his chest, then folded it down. 

His mom did that. Catherine. He had thought it was really smart, how she didn’t need to hold it or readjust, it was just still in place. It was still smart now.

He was in front of the mirror now. He got a look of himself, towel draped on his head. Babushka. Huh. What a word. Anyway, towel drying time. He just rubbed kind of zig-zaggy until he remembered what Dick did, gathering his hair into the towel, bunching it, bringing it up, and then squeezing. He said something about it helping his curl pattern. That could probably help him, slightly at least. His hair was pretty fucked, met with box-dye, flattening irons without protective spray on the daily, and bleached from occasional mental breakdowns. Fun thing his hair is. His face. Everything feels like vanity and everything feels venal. He finished with the towel drying, using Dick’s method. Although the next step might ruin it anyway. 

He parts his hair down the middle (always the middle), holds the left half down, and goes to town with the blow dryer. Eyes closed. He doesn’t need to see it to feel the heat. Rinse repeat for the other side. He does a final once over of the back of his head, where everything always refuses to fucking dry. 

He wishes he had Dick’s long hair. It framed his face, along with his shabby bangs. It was long, longer than Dick had grown it out before... That Jay knew of at least. It reached below his shoulders, kinky curls all the way down. Medium desaturated browns crowded around his face, which was another, lighter, more alive brown. Kind of reddish with orange-y undertones. Blue eyes. Darker blue flecks in them. He had freckles when he was younger. Had. There were just two beauty marks left now. He was really pretty. That being the understatement of the year. Whatever about his face though. He didn’t realize how well he memorized Dick’s face. Doesn’t exactly know how to feel about that but…

He realizes he’s been leaning back against the wall and surges back forward. His bodies almost dry. He sighs before finishing it off, then gathers the smaller towels he used earlier into the big one and walks back into his room a door or away. 

The towel pile goes straight into the hamper. He stops for a second after that. It’s light in his room. Gold peeking through curtains. He can see his skin. The discolouration. The keloids. The indents. The straight marring. Raised, laminated looking skin-- from a knife. Probably. He never cared to keep track. Not that he probably could have without writing it down. His memory and all… 

He tugs on underwear over his legs, toned and soft, then covers them with sweats, and pulls a loose Tee over his head, one that he got when he broke into Bruce and Kal’s penthouse to steal from Bruce’s closet again, and decides on wearing a lighter jacket too. Permanently decreased body temperature along with anemia suck. Seriously, why the fuck did the pit do that. That of all things. Worst combo ever. He was definitely not anemic before dying, and his average body temperature was also not 68.8 degrees fahrenheit. A lot changed, after death. The pit that can resurrect doesn’t do it without other prices. His constant fight to stop shivering was definitely one of them.

The light just proved it was so late it’s early. He needed to sleep but he just didn’t really want to. He never wanted to do anything, was the problem actually. His hands are really damn cold right now.

But you know what? He’d deal with that when he woke back up. If he did at least.

**Author's Note:**

> shits and screams


End file.
